The Gods Must Be Crazy
by EyesTurnedSkyward1969
Summary: When a bottle drops out of the sky and into the hands of a tribe of unsuspecting Bushmen, Xi sets out to throw it off the edge of the Earth. On his journey, he meets up with Arthur, Alfred, and an army of terrorists. Who knew the gods could be so cruel?
1. Prologue I Welcome to the Kalahari

It looks like a paradise, but it is in fact the most treacherous desert in the world. The Kalahari. After the depressingly short rainy season, there are many water holes, and even rivers- long, winding rivers that cut scars through the land. Unfortunately, though, as is a well-known fact, all good things must come to an end, whether that end be sooner or later (sooner, in this case). After a few weeks of luxury, the water sinks away into the deep Kalahari sand; the water holes dry up, and the rivers stop flowing. The previously easily accessible water is soon replaced by easily accessible grass, faded to a beautiful blond color that offers excellent grazing for the animals that are unfortunate enough to live there. However, despite the niceties of deliciously toned grass within a moment's reach, most of the animals move away, leaving the beautiful grass uneaten; for the next nine months, there will be no water to drink in the Kalahari.

Humans avoid the Kalahari like the plague, because man must have water to live (another well-known, and (for the most part) globally acknowledged fact).

Consequently, the beautiful landscapes are devoid of people…

Which is, in truth, not true at all.

The Kalahari, in all of its deadly vastness, is devoid of all people barring one little, insignificant group that lie, unawares to the rest of the civilized world, in the very heart of this desert.

They are the little people of the Kalahari…

Pretty, dainty, small and graceful; they are the Bushmen.

These Bushmen must be the most contented people in all the world. They have no crime, no punishment, no violence, no laws, no police, judges, rulers, or bosses- anarchists in their own right, except for the fact that they cannot dislike government, as they've never been subject to it.

They believe that the gods in which they base their faith put only good and useful things on the Earth for them to use. In this closed off world of theirs, nothing is bad or evil. (Even a poisonous snake is not bad- you just have to keep away from the sharp end.)

They live in the vastness of the Kalahari in small familial groups, where everyone knows everyone else and their mother, as well as everything they may or may not have done that day- a bit like Facebook in the lack of privacy and near constant updates (not that there's all that much to update about when you live in the middle of a desert).

A single family of Bushmen might meet up with another family once in a few years, but for the most part they live in complete isolation, quite unaware that there are other people in the world. In the deepest parts of the Kalahari, there are Bushmen that have never seen or heard of civilized man- never driven in or even laid eyes on an automobile of any sort, nor watched high definition football games on a plasma TV while drinking a can of condensed energy.

Occasionally they will hear a thundering sound in the sky, but as they don't know about civilization, or the fact that civilization can fly, they aren't, in fact, aware that it is a jet. Instead they assume that the gods have eaten too much again, and their tummies are rumbling up there. Sometimes they can even see evidence of the Gods' flatulence flying through the sky.

They are a very gentle people. They'll never punish a child or speak harshly to it, so of course their kids are very well behaved. Their games are cute and inventive; simply dancing around in a circle with a single foot placed in the crook of another's leg can offer hours of entertainment, unlike our youth whom require earsplitting music or a flashing screen (like the very one you are liking at right now, for instance)).

Despite all this though, the one characteristic which _really_ makes the Bushmen different from all the other races on Earth is the fact that they have no sense of ownership at all. Where they live there really is nothing you _can_ own. Only trees, and grass, and animals. In fact, these Bushmen have never seen a stone or a rock in their lives; the hardest things they know are wood and bone. They live in a gentle world, where nothing is as hard as rock or steel or concrete.

Rather than surrounded by technology, they live a quiet life in the middle of a desert with nothing more than a few sparse patches of trees and miles upon miles of dirt stretching out on either side- no winding city streets or buildings that scrape the clouds even within reach. Or… so they think.

* * *

As the bushmen have no means of transportation other than their own two feet, and would have no need to walk a long ways from their home anyway, they would not know that only 600 miles to the south there's a vast city.

Enter civilized man.

Civilized man refused to adapt himself to his environment, unlike the Bushmen of the Kalahari who live in harmony with it. Instead he adapted his environment to suit him. So he built cities; roads, vehicles, machinery, and he put up power lines to run these labor saving devices. But somehow he didn't know when to stop. The more he improved his surroundings to make his life easier, the more complicated it became. So now his children are sentenced to 10 to 15 years of school just to learn how to survive in this complex and hazardous habitat they were born into. And civilized man who refused to adapt himself to his natural surroundings now finds that he has to adapt and readapt himself every day and every hour of the day to his self created environment.

For instance: if the day is called Monday, and the number seven three zero comes up, you have to dis-adapt yourself from your domestic surroundings, and readapt yourself to an entirely different environment.

_Francis backed quickly out of his drive and sped off down the street, not bothering to watch for other cars, as he should, and accidentally cutting off some poor soul that was trying to pull into the same street he was currently occupying. He simply swerved into the opposite lane and continued on, humming happily to himself. He was never one to be deterred._

Eight-double-zero means that everyone has to look busy.

_Arthur worked his way to his desk, conveniently situated smack-dab in the middle of the usual morning hustle and bustle that was the beginning of his day at the small publishing firm. As soon as he [finally] made it to his desk, the phone rang. He reached over the multitudes of papers and snatched it, placing it over his ear. _

"_Hullo? Ah, yes sir, I-" he listened to his boss, Francis, on the other end of the line before replying._

"_Well, yes, I have a very good story here about handicapped children, actually-"_

_He grimaced as his boss shouted into the receiver, instinctively pulling the phone a few feet back. After a few moments of continued shouting had passed he placed it gingerly back against his ear, speaking quickly so as to stop the unnecessary flow of horribly French-sounding English._

"… _Yes, look I'm sor-" he waited again, growing more and more impatient. "Yes, well I understand that, but-" the man on the other line continued to speak. After a while he couldn't help but huff angrily and rub at his temples. If only his boss wasn't so terribly, horrifically French, and if only he didn't absolutely detest the French so very, very much, he was absolutely positive that he wouldn't be forced to drop his gentlemanly behavior and lose his temper like he so often did. But he was, and he did, and so he felt absolutely no guilt for yelling back through the phone. "For the love of the blooming Queen. Fine, yes, I'm so very, very sorry. You have no bleeding idea just how sorry I am. From now on __I'll only print sweetness and light, even if it bores the fucking trousers off them." And he hung up the phone._

Ten three zero means that you can stop looking busy for 10 to 15 minutes.

_Francis sat wondering when his usual morning cup of tea would arrive, courtesy of his receptionist. He found his thoughts turning to her rather than the tea, and decided that she wasn't all that bad in the looks department, if he did say so himself (which he did). In fact… she might just be worth a shot. He quickly scribbled his name and number on a sheet of paper, finishing the last loopy 'y" right as she entered. She walked over, a smile plastered on her face, and handed him the saucer. When their hands brushed he slipped the paper slyly into her palm. She looked down at her hand and then back up at him, surprise evident on her face. He brought the teacup to his lips, winked at her over the rim, and took a sip. He stared at her retreating back triumphantly… and gaped when she casually threw the paper (and his plans for the night) in the trash._

And then you have to look busy again.

"_Hi Arthur!"_

"_Hullo Ludwig."_

"_Do you think you can use this?" Ludwig handed him a couple sheets of paper, which he skimmed through swiftly. "It's about the shortage of teachers in Botswana."_

_He glanced up. "Good story?"_

"_Ja__. They'll take just about anybody that can read and write."_

_Arthur flipped through them once more before handing them back regretfully. "I don't know. I got bawled out for writing a story on mugging only a few weeks ago. He says my page should "only have sweetness and light", like Liberace and Jackie Onassis." Arthur made a face of disgust. "Bloody load of bollocks is what it is. I'm sorry." He looked at Ludwig apologetically before turning back to his computer._

And so your day is chopped up into little pieces, and in each segment of time you have to adapt to a new set of circumstances. No wonder some people go off the rails a bit.

_After fruitlessly searching the little diner for an empty seat, Arthur made his way over to a table only half-occupied by a stout blond woman. _

"_May I share a table?" he asked, already setting his tray down. The woman (whom, he noted, didn't look completely… there) moved her purse aside so as to allow him some room. After looking around for a moment, she turned to him, eyes wide in a creepy sort of way. _

"_Does the noise in my head bother you?" she questioned, looking for all the world like she was actually worried about his discomfort. _

"_Ehmmm… no." He replied at length, slowly turning his head back to face his orange juice, face blank._

_

* * *

_

_Arthur walked towards Ludwig resolutely, allowing himself no room for hesitation. When he was close enough, he began speaking._

"_Hey Ludwig, do you still have that story about the teacher shortage in Botswana?"_

"_Ja, I do__. Are you going to use it?"_

"_No." he replied, taking the papers once more. "But perhaps… perhaps they can use me."_

**Disclaimer; ForeverTheHero doesn't own Hetalia Axis Powers or The God's Must Be Crazy. (What, did you expect something witty?)**

**Aha! Chapter; complete! So this is the prologue to a parody of The God's Must Be Crazy, an absolutely hilarious movie. I was watching it a few weeks ago, and was immediately reminded of Arthur and Alfred and their oh so funny shenanigans. So… yeah, I decided to write this. It will get funnier as it goes (as that is the way the movie is) so I can't really help that. Thus the reason this is a prologue. Also, the very beginning is JUST like the movie with a few minor additions on my part. I am not stealing this; I simply could find no way to get around it, as the movie starts out with a narrator who does the part a writer would normally do. Anywho, here's the beginning. If you would like me to continue, just leave a review or follow the story or summat along those lines. We'll see how this goes… If you see any mistakes, please tell me!**

**Also; if you haven't seen The God's Must Be Crazy, do! It is amazing. **

**Can you guys guess who Alfred is going to be? XDD**


	2. Prologue II The End of the Earth

It wasn't long before Xi, whom was walking lazily across the savannah grass, heard the telltale rumbling of a bird off in the distance. He had seen them quite often lately; huge, white, soaring things that flew without flapping their wings: strange in appearance and even stranger in sound. They were loud- much louder than the typical desert birds- and their low grumbling whine seemed to resonate in the air and fill the ears until you couldn't tell the footfalls of an elephant from those of a lion if it were following only a few feet behind you.

He didn't think on this long, though. He had, after all, seen a good number of them, and was inclined to let it go its merry way. And he did- until, that is, he heard a new noise fill the air; a whirring sound accompanied by an object hurtling straight towards him. He stopped and looked up, his head following the path of a shiny glass… _thing_ until it thudded against the ground only a few yards from where he stood. He stared at its landing spot a moment before walking curiously over.

The intrigued Bushman bent down so that he could get a better look, and, after studying it a moment, tapped a single finger against the side. It made an odd, hollow noise. Curiosity piqued further, he reached for a small stick and tapped it against the object. This time it made a high-pitched clinking sound. He carefully picked it up, and brought it up to eye level. He noticed that across the rounded front there was scribbled peculiar, unreadable gibberish in white curly letters that looked something akin to a couple of crescent moons connected to a circle and a single line. The lines spelt the words Coca-Cola, though of course he could not know this. Pocketing the item (well, not really pocketing as much as simply carrying in his hand), he made his way back to the village.

Once there, he gave the object to his family, so that they might figure out what it was. They passed it from hand to hand, eyeing it curiously and knocking their fingers against the sides.

One of them, Babo, got his finger stuck in the thing, and the children thought he was very funny. After tugging profusely at the lodged finger, a look of what could only be described as pure dumb-foundment on his face [1], it finally flew forth with an audible pop, earning him another wave of raucous laughter.

And so at first the villagers tried the thing out to cure thumbs. It had the right shape, and just the right weight.

It was tied to a long, hand knotted rope; one end secured around the neck and the other to the bottle's base, and then it was hung from a tree, where it was let to spin around and around until it would make one dizzy to look at.

Others used it for their own purposes, too, though. Besides being good for curing thumbs, it was also beautifully smooth, and ideal for curing snake skin.

Babo discovered also that you could make music on it by placing you lips above the rim of the bottle and blowing out in short, rhythmic spurts.

Soon the family came to realize that this had to be the most useful thing the gods had ever given them; a real labor saving device, on all accounts.

Except for the fact that the gods, as was typical of them, had been careless, and had sent only one. And now for the first time in their lives, here was a thing that could not be shared because there was, well, only one of it. And quite suddenly everyone needed it- a thing they had never once needed before became a necessity. Unfamiliar emotions began to stir; a feeling of wanting to own, of not wanting to share- a bit like a child finally shown the wonders of pre-school, only to realize that everyone else wants to play with their toys.

And with this, other new things came; anger, jealousy, hate, and, worst of all, violence. The villagers began to fight over the thing- to steal it from one another whilst their kinsmen weren't looking, only to have it stolen right back. A fight would then break out, and one would hit the bottle over the head of the other, only to quickly realize right afterwards just what they had done [2].

Xi, who had witnessed the slow but sure undoing of his family, became very angry with the gods. In a rage he shouted, "Take back your thing! We don't want it! Look at the trouble it's brought!" and threw the bottle into the air, only to have it come hurtling back down and nearly hit him on the head. He dodged, covering himself as best he could from the oncoming bottle, then picked it back up from the ground once it had landed.

He roared once more at them, "You must be crazy to send us this thing! Take it back!" and threw it even higher in the hopes that they might finally do as they were asked. However, it merely did the very thing it had done before; it went up and then came hurtling back down, only this time it did so with a vengeance, and hit his daughter on the back of the head.

It became very obvious that the gods did not want to take it back, nor would they.

And so he carried the thing away from the shelter and buried it, intent on never seeing it again.

That evening, there was no laughter or chatter around the family fire. A strange feeling of shame had come over them, and they were very quiet.

Finally Xi spoke up, breaking the abnormal silence. He said, "I have buried the thing. It will not make us unhappy again."

Later that night, however, a hyena smelled that blood on the thing and dug it up. Unfortunately, just then a bad tempered wart hog smelled the hyena, and chased him away from its territory. The hyena, in its mad dash for the woods, dropped the bottle and scampered off.

The next day, the bottle was found right where the hyena had left it by Xi's daughter- the very one, in fact, whose blood was the reason it was there in the first place. She picked it up with a child's curiosity, and began to blow over the top. The bottle, as expected, emitted a musical sound, just as it had for Babo. Happy with her discovery, she began to walk back towards the village. Not even when her brother came up along side her would she stop- nor would she allow him a turn. He begged her, pleaded with her to let him have a go, kept on until they came to the outskirts of the village (within easy view of the adults there) and at last became fed up with her selfishness. He tried grabbing it out of her hand, but she held tight, and soon they began pushing and pulling at each other in an attempt to take the bottle for themselves. Eventually, though, it was SHE that grew fed up, and she thwacked him over the head with it. By this time, Xi had made his way over, and in a fury seized the bottle in his own hand and threw it harshly against the ground. He bent down to inspect his son, still spewing curses at the gods for their obvious stupidity. The rest of the family could only watch on in silence.

Another night passed, and again the family sat quietly around the fire, stewing in their unhappiness Again it was Xi who finally broke it. He began to talk of the 'evil thing' (they had no name for it, and so that was what they called it) that had, for some reason (a joke of the gods, maybe?) come into their lives. Babo spoke up then, when Xi had finished. He said, "Perhaps the gods where absent-minded when they dropped the thing on the earth. They've always sent us only good things, like the rain, and the trees, and roots and berries to eat, because we are their children, and they love us… But now… they've sent us this evil thing." He ended some what abruptly, and the silence seemed almost palpable in the air- an awkward thing which hung there over their heads. Again, Xi spoke up.

"This thing does not belong on the earth," he said somberly, staring off into the fire. "Tomorrow I will take it to the end of the earth and throw it off." Another Bushmen spoke up, looking at Xi incredulously all the while.

"I think the end of the earth must be very far. I think you will have to walk for 20 days, perhaps forty."

"I will start walking tomorrow," Xi replied, still staring non-seeingly at the fire.

It was in this way that a small, insignificant Bushman, completely unaware of the large world outside his very window, set off for the end of the earth, a forlorn Coke bottle his one and only companion.

* * *

Ok, guys, there it is. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, mostly because I knew that this would be the end of the prologue, but also because I just love this movie. Next chapter we have the terrorists, and then (I SWEAR) Alfred is finally going to appear. Not just that though, lovies; there will also be some Alfred Arthur interaction, which I am majorly looking forward to (as you all should be as well XD). Anywho. No promises as to when the next update will be, but it shouldn't be TOO long. Sorry or any mistakes, but I don't have a BETA. So... any volunteers?

Special thanks too all my loverly reviewers; Ayla The Librarian, crackberries, and an anonymous reviewer whom I am dubbing Ralph. And of course, thanks to those who alerted as well! Hope you enjoyed it! :D

Merry Christmas guys! If you celebrate it, at least… And a big hoorah for my first ever "White Christmas"! First one in Chattanooga since 1964, in fact. Pretty damn cool (lol, pun).

Ya know, this was a lot longer on my computer... o-O

Disclamier: Weder Hetalia Achse Befugnisse oder die Götter müssen verrückt sind mein.

* * *

[1] I absolutely adore that look. If you don't remember it, go to about 9:00 on the movie. You will, and you will die of laughter, I promise thee (not that that should deter you in any way. It's totally worth it!)

[2] Another seriously hilarious look adorned the lady's face after she hit the other girl over the head. I stopped it there and laughed for hours (well, maybe not that long). Still, though. Check it out. 11:22. Your life will never be the same o-O.


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